


Fun with a Hyperactive Brown-Haired Genius (Full)

by littlelostcat



Series: Challenge Responses [3]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: M/M, PWP
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-16
Updated: 2013-02-16
Packaged: 2017-11-29 13:18:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,014
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/687386
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/littlelostcat/pseuds/littlelostcat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles wants Derek to have fun, porn ensues.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fun with a Hyperactive Brown-Haired Genius (Full)

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for [Fullmoon Ficlet](http://fullmoon-ficlet.livejournal.com/profile) Temptation challenge. There is a small break with three dashes (---) where my challenge response ends and the PWP begins -- so if you don't want porn, just end there. :D
> 
> I don't own Derek or Stiles, they belong to Jeff Davis and MTV. I'm just borrowing them for fun. All mistakes are my own; and any comments or criticisms are greatly appreciated.

For the past six years he’s learned how to narrow his world into a single vision and has learned how to compartmentalize his emotions. He tables desire, anger, fear, hope, excitement, and depression. He tucks those emotions away into little boxes until he needs them. But he’s human (well, sort of). He makes mistakes - hello, biting three delinquents with authority issues -- and sometimes things won’t go away. Guilt never stays locked up for long, and loyalty pops out at the least opportune times.

And then there is the hyperactive, brown-haired genius Temptation (yes, capital T) that sees too much, figures things out too fast, and never stops questioning things. 

“Derek.” It’s said with such annoyance and affection that he tenses before turning around, because _this_ is a no-win battle. 

“Stiles, no.”

“Come on, man.” And he watches in a dazed confusion as Stiles clammers over the sofa to grab ahold of his arm. No one touches him -- not his betas, not his uncle. No one. Except this hyperactive, brown-haired genius. “I get the whole lone bad boy act, but, come on!”

He growls then grins when Stiles jerks his hand away and backs up a step. He feels control momentarily returning. “Lone bad boy?” He steps forward and suppresses his smirk when Stiles’s knees knock against the side of the couch. “I’m a werewolf, Stiles. It isn’t some _act_.”

Stiles swallows audibly and Derek watches Stiles gathering his thoughts, sees the moment he has the answer. Then Stiles smirks, rests his weight on the arm of the sofa, and keeps his eyes on Derek’s. “Prove it.”

“Don’t tempt me,” he turns and stops when Stiles grabs his arm with one hand and the other side of his open jacket with the other. “Stiles.”

“Derek,” he mimics, his voice dropping an octave and sending a shiver up Derek’s spine. He glances at where Stiles hasn’t let go. 

“You do realize that pissing off a werwolf, an alpha, is suicide, right?”

“Just for tonight. Not even twenty-four hours, man. Just, like, twelve hours of drama-free fun.”

“Leave,” he growls.

“No.”

And _this_ is how he knows he won’t win this argument. If he’s honest, the temptation had began its serpentine slither around him the minute Stiles had walked into his apartment with a small duffle and intent look. But Derek has faced death and betrayal and loss. He’s gone up against family and hunters and teenagers. And he’s won. He should be able to control himself around some mouthy, lithe brat with a big mouth and twitching fingers.

Then Stiles tightens his hold and shifts them until his legs are bracketed by Derek’s; he hooks his fingers in the belt loops of Derek’s belt and pulls; and he’s again shocked at the the fact that Stiles just _touches_ him. “Give it up, man. Tomorrow we can go back to Surly Town.”

“I don’t,” he sighs and tries to step back but Stiles holds and he stays. “Surly Town?”

“Yep, that little town north of Broodsville. That town you’re mayor of?”

Derek rolls his eyes and puts his hands on Stiles’ with the intent of pushing him off, instead he squeezes. “Why?”

“Because you need a break and a few hours where you aren’t thinking about alphas, Argents, or A... um ... a...”

“Annoyances?”

Stiles smirks, “I was going to say Another Creepy Peter Episode.”

Derek laughs quietly and moves his hands to either side of Stiles’s thighs. “And what do you suggest?”

“Not me,” Stiles shakes his head and keeps his eyes locked on Derek’s but Derek feels the tug of Stiles’ fingers. “You. You’re the one who needs the break.”

He scratches his fingers against the sofa fabric and takes a deep breath, then stops and lowers his head slightly. “Fine. If I promise to relax,” and he does _not_ roll his eyes around the word, “will you leave?”

“Nope,” Stiles grins and kicks his heels on the ground between Derek’s legs, crosses his arms. “I don’t trust you, as you constantly remind me. So for the next twelve hours I’m camping at Chez Hale and you are going to have fun. F-U-N. Video games, movies,” he swallows, “Or whatever.”

Derek straightens, ignoring the dirty whispers and taunts of his Temptation. “Your father--”

“Is out of town for the week, some law enforcement seminar in Sacramento.”

Derek can feel himself caving in, slipping into Temptation and his Hyperactive, Brown-Haired Genius. “And if I want to do something you don’t?”

“Can’t think of anything I don’t want to do.”

Derek swallows and hears Stiles’ heartbeat pick up, hears and feels his own race to match it. He leans closer and feels their body heat sharpen, and his eyes track Stiles’s tongue when his licks his lips. “Stiles...”

“Anything you want, De--”

He doesn’t let Stiles finish before he’s pulling Stiles' mouth to his, before his licking his tongue alongside Stiles’. He moves one hand from where its fisted on the sofa arm to palm the back of Stiles’ head and tilts him back; and Stiles pulls his legs back and wraps them around Derek’s waist, his hands fisting and pulling off Derek’s jacket until it’s thrown behind the sofa. 

When Stiles leans back Derek wraps his other hand around Stiles’s waist, sliding between skin and cloth, and lowers them back. They slide and grind against one another as they move and settle against the other arm. Stiles groans and, open-mouthed, kisses his way to Derek’s mouth, mapping his way through stubble and skin. 

Derek moves, bites his way down Stiles’ jaw to his neck where his pulse thumps erratically. “Stiles, if--”

Stiles rolls his hips and fists his hands into the back of Derek’s shirt, nails scratching through the material; his head falls back and he gasps, “Anything, Derek.”

 

\---

Derek hums and hitches Stiles’ shirt up and off, then looks down and watches Stiles’ eyes darken and his cheeks redden. 

“Don’t stop,” he groans and raises his hips when Derek opens the top button on his jeans, he scrapes his fingers nails along the skin and kisses gently as the skin. Then unzips them and slides them, and his shoes, to the floor. 

“Wasn’t going to,” Derek mumbles and rubs his nose against Stiles’ stomach, enjoys the way Stiles’ breath hitches when he bites at the line leading to Stiles’ boxers. He kisses his way back up, stopping and lapping at Stiles’ nipple, nipping gently and moving to the other. When Stiles whimpers Derek grins around the nub and pulls again. He moves again and reaches Stiles’ jaw, bites the same path as his way down until he’s licking into Stiles’ open mouth. 

“Is this fun, Stiles?” he whispers into his ear.

Stiles twists, sloppily kisses him and maneuvers them until Derek is on his back and Stiles is straddling his waist. “Honestly? I figured it would take longer to convince you.” He leans down and frames Derek’s face with his hands. “I mean, I had subtle hints totally prepared to use until we got here.”

Stiles slides his hands under Derek’s shirt, nails raking up then down, until Derek huffs and rips the shirt off with a curse; then Stiles slides down Derek’s body, licking and outlining the muscled lines of Derek’s stomach in the process. He stops at Derek’s jeans and licks and bites along the denim until its wet with saliva and sweat. He moves lower to wetly kiss and tongue at the hot line of Derek’s erection. “Stiles,” he groans, “You don’t--”

“Fun, Derek,” Stiles mumbles and nuzzles his mouth and chin against Derek’s cock. “This is fun. Enjoy the fun.”

Derek kicks off his shoes as Stiles pulls Derek’s jeans down and off. He sits up from between Derek’s open legs, hands on Derek’s thighs, and grins down; he pulls Derek’s boxer briefs lower, watches as his erection slides out and falls to his belly, “Lots and lots of fun.”

Derek watches Stiles, he can’t tear his eyes away when Stiles licks his lips. But he can’t watch when Stiles drops, elbows propped outside his legs, and licks him from root to tip. His head falls back when Stiles licks him again, his hands fist the cushions when his cock slips into the wet heat between Stiles’ lips. Just the tip, over and over _and over_. Then Stiles moves lower and Derek can’t stop himself from thrusting up or from groaning when Stiles pulls off.

“No,” he wipes his mouth, slippery and abused, and grins down at him. “We’re going slow until the only thing you can think about is me and my name.” 

Then he licks his palm, eyes locked on Derek’s, and runs it along the length of Derek’s erection, palming himself through his boxers with his other hand. Stiles flicks his eyes down and Derek’s eyes are still glued to Stiles' face, Stiles whose eyes are now watching the head of Derek’s cock sliding in and out of his tight fist. He catches his bottom lip between his teeth before leaning down and sucking the tip, then he follows his fist with his lips. He hums and rounds his tongue to slide along the base of Derek’s cock, and Derek grinds his teeth to keep from pushing up. Silken heat and tight wetness surround him and his can feel his pulse spiking, his body shaking.

When Stiles pulls off, slippery and wet, he moves down to kiss and suck on Derek’s balls. He runs his teeth lightly over the skin and moves back to swallow him down. He kneads his fingers against the inside of Derek’s thighs, nails digging into the flesh of his thigh and he bobs his head. He flicks his eyes to Derek’s and keeps the hold. His eyes water as he noses against Derek’s pelvis and lifts up and off, then he starts to lower again when Derek’s hand, somehow on the base of his skull, stills him and pulls him back up.

Before Stiles can ask Derek’s pulled himself up and pulled Stiles closer, pushing them back so Stiles’ back is against the sofa. “Together,” he growls and pulls Stiles’ bottom lip between his teeth, then slicks his tongue against Stiles’. 

Stiles groans and thrusts against the heat of Derek’s body and Derek feels their cocks, his wet and naked and Stiles’ damp and cotton-bound, rub side by side. “For you, Derek,” Stiles half whispers half groans.

“Fun,” Derek thrusts between their bodies and slides his hands to pulls Stiles’ boxers over his cock and down his thighs. “This is fun.”

When Stiles whimpers again and claws between Derek’s shoulders, Derek grinds down again; Stiles meets him and he can feel Stiles’ body begin to tense. He can practically feel Stiles’ entire body pulse. Derek bites, hard enough to mark, at the space where Stiles’ neck runs to his shoulder and he feels Stiles’ heart speed faster there, feels Stiles’ cock thicken and jerk against his. 

“Feeling you come apart,” he whispers into Stiles’ skin, “is fun.”

“Oh God.” Stiles locks one knee around Derek’s and begins thrusting, rocking against Derek in erratic jerks. And Derek. Derek meets him each time, pushes and feels the sweat from Stiles’ chest slide against his own. He grins when Stiles’ hips stutter and kisses him again, scratches human nails down his ribs. He does it again when Stiles’ chokes out Derek’s name against his lips. Then scratches a third time and Stiles is coming, hot and wet between them and when he thrusts weakly again Derek feels his own orgasm rip through him. His body falls against Stiles and he turns his head, hears his beard scrape against the sweat and skin, and Stiles runs a hand down Derek’s back and sighs, slides down and rubs his nose to Derek’s.

“Thank you,” Derek whispers.

“We still have eleven hours,” Stiles grins. “Give me half an hour and we can find more fun.”

“Lots and lots of fun, Stiles.” Derek answers then pulls back, he cups Stiles’ cheek and chastely kisses the corner of his mouth. “Thank you.”

**Author's Note:**

> This is one of the first PWP's I've written in a long while and the first longish present tense I've written ... ever. So, yay!
> 
>    
> I'm LittleLostCat on [LiveJournal](http://littlelostcat.livejournal.com/profile) and [Tumblr](http://littlelostcat.tumblr.com). Let's meet and have fun! And thanks for reading! :D


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